The Wishing Well Curse
Copyright© 2023 by Lynn Donovan
Chapter 32
Zeke headed out the front door and changed his mind. Why not?
He set the security system and walked to the garage where he grabbed keys from the hook. Thirty minutes later he pulled into the parking lot of the Big Poppa’s Diner. He parked the Cadillac Escalade and walked through the electronic glass doors.
“Clayton, order to go?” Suzie, the pony-tailed waitress, inquired.
“That’s me,” Zeke replied. The name felt right, as if something incomplete in his life had been made whole. A tingle of excitement surged his chest as he picked up the sacks. He paid and hurried out to the SUV. Settle down!
He re-read Rose’s address and touched the GPS app on his phone. He entered the information. A map with a red arrow appeared on his screen. Not far. He smiled and pulled the stick shift down to reverse.
Ten minutes later, he parked at the curb of a modest bungalow. He grabbed the sacks and drink tray from the passenger seat. The weight of the amulet touched his leg as he walked. He suppressed a smile. His heart raced faster the closer he got to the bright blue door. He tried to pace his breathing in a futile attempt to lower his heart rate.
The door opened before he could press the doorbell and he jumped. He smiled and hoped he looked calm and relaxed.
The black screen moaned as the woman pushed it open.
Sky blue eyes peered at him from a curtain of dark brown bangs. Shoulder length hair curled up right where it touched the contrasting porcelain skin of her shoulders.
His breath caught in his chest. This had to be Rose. He stood helpless on the stoop and stared into the familiar eyes.
“Zeke?” she asked timidly.
The sound of her voice—saying his name—melted his insides to goo.
He swallowed, hard and nodded. “Yes.”
“You ... wanna come in?” Concern filled her eyes. She glanced past him. “My roommate will be home any minute.”
“Sure,” he murmured.
His eyes followed the sway of her pajamas as she led him through the home. They walked from the mud room, to the living room, and into the dining area. He could see the kitchen next. A shot-gun style home. His mom had talked about them. You can stand at the front door and shoot a shot gun straight through to the back door.
She gestured, “Here we are.”
He obediently sat the sacks and drinks down on the table.
She eyed the three drinks and glanced up at him, the question in the ripple of her brow.
“For your roommate.” He shrugged.
She smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear. Pulling out a chair, she sat on her left, socked foot. The other leg dangled from the vinyl chair.
He lifted the chair out so as not to scrape the floor and sat stiffly.
She reached for the hamburgers and fries and examined the wrappings.
“Are they the same?” She separated them into three groups.
“Yeah, easier that way,” he stammered. He wanted to slap the side of his head. Why was he talking like an idiot?
“Oh, and you remembered extra ketchup. Thank you so much.” Her voice was like velvet.
“Sure,” he blurted.